Leslie could hardly contain her delight, and she was on her knees, practically pushing Declan out of the way before he could even look through the opening.

“I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed. “You buy an old house, and you always dream about finding hidden stairways and tunnels and lost rooms, but when it actually happens…”

“You do?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

Leslie, crouched next to him and balancing on the balls of her feet, looked over and found his face very close to hers. For a moment, her thoughts hitched as she became aware of his warmth and the pleasant scent of him, then went on full steam ahead. “Yes, you do—if you grew up reading Nancy Drew and Lois Duncan and the Chronicles of Narnia! I mean, I always wanted to find a wardrobe that led to a secret world.”

“Apparently I missed out on all the fun.” His voice was wry and tinged with humor, and he graciously moved out of the way so she could get a better look, steadying her by the arm when she nearly lost her balance in her eagerness. “I wasn’t much of a reader.”

“No wonder the wall patch was so small and low to the ground—it’s just the top of a spiral staircase, right beneath the main stairway!” She shined her light down inside a hole the size of a trapdoor. The iron-railed steps curled down into the darkness like a strand of DNA. “Do you think it’s safe? I want to go down there.”

“Not afraid of what you might find?” he asked in that same amused voice. “There might be spiders.”

“I’m sure there’ll be spiders.” She hesitated, warring with herself. It was one thing to encounter spiders in the light, where she could see and avoid them…but it would be a totally different ballgame to be climbing down a stairway in the dark and potentially walking into spider-laden cobwebs. Or having the arachnids lowering themselves onto her head or shoulders—

“Want me to check the stairs first and make sure they’re sturdy enough?”

Leslie fairly sang out with relief. “Yes, but don’t look at anything,” she told him, scooting back. “I want to see it for myself.”

“Kinda hard to test out the steps all the way down without looking around,” he muttered, but she saw his mouth continuing to twitch in a barely restrained smile. “I’ll do my best to feel my way down, and hope I don’t miss a step.”

“Well, of course you can look—but don’t tell me anything.” Leslie peered around his shoulder as he carefully stepped down into the opening, using the edge of the hole they’d revealed to help lever himself in. “And get rid of any spiders in the way.”

“So mice and rats and snakes are okay?” he asked with a teasing challenge. “How about bats?”

“It’s only spiders and Orbra that scare me,” she reminded him with a grin. “I can handle anything else.” Even ghosts.

Leslie waited, watching impatiently as he took his time testing his weight on the steps and then slowly, very slowly, made his way down. Just before his head disappeared through the hole, he looked up and their eyes met.

“I have to admit, this is pretty cool,” he said, then ducked below before she could react to the heat dancing in his eyes.

So he was having fun too. Leslie smiled. If I’d stayed in Philly, this would never have happened to me.

At that moment, she decided to add “Discover hidden treasures and secret rooms” to her life-improvement list.

“Well?” she called down, shining her light after him. The top of his auburn head was just out of her reach, moving slowly down in a tight spiral. His broad shoulders fit—but just barely—within the width of the tight stairwell, which, from her angle, appeared to be closed on two sides.

“I’m on the ground. Oh my God! You won’t believe this!”

“What?” Leslie nearly threw herself down the stairs, then she realized he was looking up at her from the bottom, laughing. “You’re teasing me.” She was grinning now too, and began to ease her feet through the opening.

“I’m trying not to look around too much, so hurry down. I got rid of all the spider webs, so it should be clear sailing.” He came back up a few steps. “Here, let me help you.” His hand closed around her ankle, then stopped. “Put some shoes on, Leslie. Who knows what’s down here.”

“Ugh.” She pulled back. “You’re right. Hold on.”

She moved away quickly and slipped on her clogs with the thick wooden soles, then was back at the hole and easing her feet through it, holding on to the edge just as he had. Once again, Declan’s hand gripped her ankle, this time helping her to blindly find the step below. His fingers were warm and strong on her skin, and Leslie felt that same physical awareness as yesterday when they shook hands for the first time.

He had his cell phone out and its flashlight on, and she was holding the real flash as she made her way down the stairs.

“I’m pretty sure it was a speakeasy,” he said as she reached the bottom.

“A speakeasy!” As she descended, her eyes had grown progressively wider, and her excitement spread from a small flutter to a full-blown stomach of butterflies.

“Wow. It’s like they were interrupted or something.” Leslie stepped onto the ground, Declan steadying her as she gawked at the space spread out before them. “And never came back.”

“Maybe it was the announcement that the votes had passed, and Prohibition was ending.”

“Or maybe it was a raid, and they all got carted off to jail.”

“Nice and optimistic, aren’t we?” he muttered, but loudly enough for her to hear.

Their lights didn’t illuminate the area all that well, but Leslie could see the makings of what looked like a lounge and bar. Sofas and club chairs, torn up and frayed by the rodents—which had been disturbed and were now scurrying around in the shadows—were arranged in a large U-shape. Two low tables sat in the center, covered with drinking glasses, bottles, and a large crystal decanter. Some of the vessels were broken or lying vertically, others still upright but filled only with dust and dirt. On one wall was a counter with cupboards below it and glasses on shelves above. Corks, bottles, a corkscrew, even small pieces of cloth that looked like napkins were strewn all over the counter.

Leslie turned in a slow circle, shining the beam of light around to illuminate the walls. Two sides were paneled with heavy, solid wood—maple, she thought with delight—and the other two walls appeared to be drywall or plaster, and wallpapered. A huge painting with a gilt frame at least six inches thick hung on the largest expanse of wall, as if to be the focal point. It depicted a young woman of twenty or so, with boyishly short blond hair and large brown eyes. She wore feathers in her hair, jutting from a jewel-encrusted headband that cut across her forehead, a fur scarf the length of a boa, and a shift-like dress that appeared to be sewn with more gems: diamonds, sapphires, and pale blue gems that were probably topazes or aquamarines.

Aside from the jewels on her clothing, the blond woman also wore a heavy necklace that covered her throat and the upper part of her chest with an array of sapphires, including an apricot-sized one that settled just above the beginning of her cleavage. It had been cut in the shape of a six-pointed star. The woman’s dangling earrings were also star-shaped gems—sapphires as well.

“That’s amazing.” Declan was also staring at the painting. “It must weight two hundred pounds.”

“I wonder if that’s Red Eye Sal’s wife or his mistress,” Leslie said, picking her way across the room carefully to avoid scuttling rodents, their droppings, or any other unsavory items. “Or someone else’s. She’s wearing clothes from the right era. I wonder if those are the jewels from the so-called hidden cache.”

“A hidden jewel cache? Oh, here’s another one.” Declan aimed his phone light at a second portrait.

This one was much smaller and of a different beautiful woman holding a small, fluffy brown dog on her similarly glittering lap. She was older than the other subject, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties. She too dripped with gemstones—these were rubies and garnets of all shades of crimson and rose. And like those in the other painting, star-shaped stones were featured on her necklace, bracelet, and a brooch pinned to her gown.

“This is unbelievable,” Leslie murmured, staring at the paintings, then once again turning in a slow circle around the space. She couldn’t contain her grin. “I’ll need to get some more lights down here, clean it up a bit… What a great conversation piece this’ll be for the inn. I’ll have to create a more accessible way to get down here, of course…maybe there’s an escape route or exit that’ll be easier to use.”

Declan had begun to ascend the stairs, and he paused halfway up. “There’s no connection to the section under the stair railing.” His voice was muffled, and she heard him rapping on the wall and ceiling. “It’s completely separate, as far as I can tell.”

Leslie had almost forgotten about the reason they’d actually found this secret entrance. She peered up past him, unable to see much. “The implication being that whoever hid the wrap and glove in the base of the railing didn’t know about this place?”

“Or weren’t trying to hide it down here, anyway, whether they knew of it or not. You coming up, or are you going to stay down and bask for a while?” His voice was teasing again.

“I’m coming up for now.”

Leslie followed him up the stairs, and once at the top watched as he set the piece of wall back in place. “So the mice don’t come up exploring.”

The sound of Van Morrison’s tune “Brown-Eyed Girl” suddenly filled the air, and Declan clapped a hand to his pocket.

“My daughter’s ringtone,” he said with a layer of exasperation as he fished out the singing phone. “I thought it was fine with a normal ring, but— Hey, Steph, what’s up? Everything okay? I thought you had a ride home tonight—” He listened, then nodded and said, “Right. Sure, give me about fifteen minutes… Well, no, I’m not at home. I have to go back and pick up the car… I’m at Le— Ms. Nakano’s… Yes, we did talk about the job…no, I— Look, Steph, we can discuss this later.” His voice became firmer, and Leslie was almost certain his cheeks had gone a little red.

“Do you want me to come pick you up or not? All right, great. Yes, tell Mrs. Delton I appreciate her driving you tomorrow. Yes—Stephanie,” he said from between clenched teeth. His cheeks flushed darker and he turned slightly away from Leslie. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll have the chance to thank her myself too. See you in a bit.”

He shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Teenaged girls. I’ll never understand them.” His voice was easy, but that flush remained and Leslie fought to hide her smile.

“Thanks again for your help, Declan.”

“My pleasure. I’ll be interested in seeing the speakeasy once you have better lighting down there.” He paused for a moment, then offered her his hand in a sort of awkward farewell. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks.”

Leslie closed the door behind him just as her cell phone pinged. It was a text from Aunt Cherry, wondering where she was. Leslie gasped when she saw the time—she was twenty minutes late and she’d never texted to change plans—and quickly replied that she was on her way.

Five minutes later (Leslie prided herself on being someone who could put herself together at a moment’s notice), she was driving down the dark, curving drive. Her headlights cut into the heavy growth on either side, and it occurred to her that it was going to be hell getting out of here in the winter when there were heavy snowfalls…which there always were, due to lake effect snow.

“Going to have to hire a good snow-removal service,” she said aloud. Yet another thing to add to her—

An odd movement among the trees brought her up short, and Leslie slammed on the brakes. Her tires ground sharply on the stony drive and she jerked a little behind the seatbelt. What was that?

Her heart thudded and she peered into the darkness, but the trees and brush were too thick, growing halfway over the opening so that they almost made a canopy and cutting out the moon and stars above. She could hardly make out anything but dark shapes among more dark shapes.

Leslie frowned, watching for a long while, then finally began to make her way down the hill. Whatever she’d seen could just as easily have been a deer as anything else. A shifting of a sapling, even. A dog. A person.

Then she let out a sigh of relief. It was probably Declan. He said he’d walked. It was a lot more of a direct route, cutting through the woods rather than going down the curving driveway. Maybe he’d gotten another phone call and didn’t leave right away.

Or maybe it had just been an animal. There were lots of deer around here. Most likely of all, it had been a trick of the eye—for she’d seen the movement in her peripheral vision.

Leslie put the thought out of her mind. She had news—big news—to share with Aunt Cherry, and she couldn’t wait.

* * *

The best eatery in town was called Trib’s, and it was packed with locals on this Thursday night. Delicious smells along with the sound of live acoustic guitar, underscored by conversation, burst through the door as soon as Leslie opened it.

Though Trib’s was considered a pub, its ambience was about as far from the quintessential English public house as Wicks Hollow was from Philadelphia. Inside, the walls were exposed brick behind artfully “torn” wallpapered plasterboard, the ceiling was high, and it was lined with industrial pipes and tiny hanging crystal lights. The art was loud, colorful, and exclusively Andy Warhol.

Leslie found Aunt Cherry—along with Orbra, Iva Bergstrom, and a distinguished-looking man who must be the infamous Hollis Nath—sitting at a round table beneath a four-foot-square print of Warhol’s tomato soup can piece. There were several empty chairs at the table, and for a moment, Leslie feared they were to be joined by Maxine Took, her peremptory cane, and her squabbling companion Juanita.

Her apprehension must have been written on her face, for Cherry laughed and pointed to an empty seat. “Don’t worry—Maxine already ate. She and Juanita have been staking out the Sunflower House, in hopes of capturing—I mean catching—John Fischer. Neither of them will be here tonight. Sit! We’ve been waiting to order till you got here.”

“I’m so sorry! We lost track of time, and—” Leslie clamped her lips together and picked up the menu to scrutinize its extensive beer list. “Are there any good wheat beers on here?”

“We?” Cherry jumped on the pronoun as Leslie had known she would. Meddling auntie. “Who’s we?”

Damn. “Declan Zyler stopped by. So, what do you think of this beer Soft Parade? Is it any good?”

“Declan was over? And you lost track of time?” Orbra pounced before her partner in crime even had the chance. Her eyes were narrow with delight. “Well, well, well—”

“It was nothing like that,” Leslie said with exasperation. “He just came over to check on something with the railing, and—”

“If Declan Zyler came over to my house, not only would we lose track of time, he wouldn’t be leaving until the sun came up,” Cherry said with a wicked grin. “At least if you’re not interested in him, will you put in a good word for your cougarly aunt?”

“Is cougarly even a word?”

“Oh, so now we’re the grammar police.”

“Oh, Leslie’s interested in Declan, all right,” Orbra interjected. “Look at her cheeks! They’re turning pink.”

Leslie rolled her eyes. “That pink you see is nothing more than shame over my aunt’s desperate ways.” Geesh. She hadn’t felt this awkward about her relationship with a man—or lack thereof—since high school.

Determined to put space between herself and her aunt’s highly charged interest, she turned to greet the older man sitting two seats away from her. Though he was at least seventy, he had a full head of pure white hair and was dressed in a suit and tie despite the informal occasion. “I’m Leslie Nakano. You must be Hollis Nath. I know you’ve met her before, but I’ll apologize in advance for my aunt. She’s…different. Too many failed yoga headstands, I suspect. Her arms just gave out, and clunk—onto her head.”

Hollis chuckled and shook the hand she extended in greeting. “I confess, I’d rather drive to Chicago with your aunt Cherry than Maxine and Juanita again,” he joked. “At least I was in the front seat and could pretend not to hear them when they tried to get me to take sides.”

“Now, Hollis, darling,” Iva said with a mock frown. “You know Maxine and Juanita are good people. Loud and argumentative, but good—and smart. After all, they did help to catch that murderer right here in Wicks Hollow last summer. I only wish I’d been there to help!”

“Well, I, for one, am glad you weren’t tangling with a murderer.”

“That’s because she was tangling with you instead,” Cherry muttered.

Leslie smothered a chuckle. Iva and Hollis were an adorable couple: he with his tall frame, thick white hair, and distinguished air, and Iva with her short, perfectly plump figure, round apple cheeks, and bright, sparkling blue eyes.

Hollis was smiling down at her and Leslie was struck by the naked adoration in his eyes. “When are you going to agree to marry me, Iva, darling?” he said, taking up her hand and bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

“Oh, not that again, Hollis! Why would you want to ruin a perfectly good affair by putting a ring on it?” Iva shook her head, but there was affection in her expression as well.

“Well, I’d say the question of ruination would depend on the ring,” Orbra muttered.

“I don’t care what they say—size does matter,” Cherry replied, and they giggled together like two middle school girls.

“Well, now, you can’t blame a guy for asking, darling. Again.” Hollis laughed and leaned forward to kiss his lady on the cheek, but Leslie thought she saw real sadness lingering in his expression. He really does love her.

Iva didn’t seem to notice, for she turned to Leslie. “I do hope you’re going to let me come and check out your house. I’m certain I’ll be able to sense whether it’s haunted.”

Leslie was saved from having to reply by the arrival of the waiter—who turned out to be none other than Trib himself.

The proprietor was tall and slender, pushing fifty, and had a bleached buzzcut that was just long enough on top to be rakish. He wore a yellow flowered bowtie, sleek rimless eyeglasses that probably cost four figures, and a turquoise polka dot shirt. He looked as if he’d just stepped off a page of Vogue or The Advocate.

“So at last I get to actually meet the new owner of Shenstone House,” he said with a subtle pout. “I saw the article in the paper today, and am desperate to stop by and see what you’ve done to the inside. Is this your first time here at Trib’s?”

“Not at all. But usually you’re busy when I’ve come in,” Leslie told him. “A pleasure to finally meet you. I have to say, you’ve got the best pizza I’ve ever had. The Wise Guy—the one with sausage…oh my God, it’s amazing. And there’s something about the sauce…I think you must have laced it with crack or something.”

“That’s right, sweetie,” Trib said with a pleased nod, as if the compliment was nothing more than his due. “I’m glad you’re back. And with these two ruffians.” He winked broadly at Cherry and Orbra, who were only half listening, as they had their heads together. “What can I get you all?”

They’d just finished placing their order when the door swept open and two men came in.

“Oh no. Maxine’s going to have a fit,” Orbra muttered to Iva and Cherry. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Why? What’s— oh, is that the writer?” Leslie was only able to get a glance at the newcomers without rudely craning her head to look.

“Hell, for all we know he made his escape from her at Sunflower House and that’s why he’s here,” Cherry said with a husky laugh.

“Is that the mayor with him?” asked Iva, peering through her reading glasses, which she seemed to have forgotten she was wearing. She had turned in her chair, but this left her facing her date, so it wasn’t as obvious she was gawking.

But no one needed to reply, for the two men had been seen by Trib and he beckoned them over. “There’s no room at the inn but here at this table.” He looked around the crowded restaurant with satisfaction. “And it’s not even high season. Mayor Underwhite, you don’t mind sitting here with these lovely ladies—and a very special gentleman, I might add,” he said with a warm look that was (probably for the best) lost on Hollis Nath.

“I’d never say no to sitting at a table with such lovely companions,” said Aaron Underwhite. “I hope you don’t mind, Jer—er, John. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else to sit.”

“Not at all.” The alleged famous writer directed a smile at the table in general as they chose two of the three open seats. “John Fischer,” he said, shaking everyone’s hand in turn just before taking his seat.

Until now, Leslie had no idea what the author Jeremy Fischer looked like—his photo didn’t appear on any of his book covers, or even on his website. She guessed it was because of privacy, rather than because of his appearance—for the good-looking man who sat down across from her had no reason to be shy in that area.

He had soft gray eyes, a broad, square jaw, and a slender nose. His thick coffee-colored hair was worn short and brushed forward on top, as if to hide a receding hairline. It was threaded with gray, especially at the sideburns, and sported a bit of curl at the ends. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, and rather than looking like an unkempt vagabond, he simply looked collegiate. The round glasses perched on his nose gave him an air of absentmindedness and studiousness—as if he were mentally focused on whatever book he might be writing, despite sitting in a crowded restaurant.

“John’s in town working on a project,” said Underwhite with a barely concealed sense of pride. “He needed a quiet place to hole himself up.”

Jeremy—or John, as he was calling himself—made no comment. Instead, he gave a brief smile then turned to pore over the menu, leaving his companions to wonder about his “project” and whether the rumors were true.

“Where’s Regina?” asked Orbra. “Should we pull up a chair for her too?”

“She’ll be here in a few,” replied the mayor. He was about the same age as Fischer and Trib, and he had very short hair that was thinning on top. Underwhite wore a smartly cut, very expensive suit that seemed like overkill in a small town like Wicks Hollow, especially after business hours. He was short and stocky, with ruddy cheeks and soft hands, and exuded an underlying air of importance laced with gregariousness.

As soon as he ordered a beer, Underwhite turned his attention to Leslie. He flashed perfect white teeth and said, “Pleasure to finally meet you, young lady. Sorry I haven’t been by to give you an official welcome—been very busy with all the big Fall Colors tours. Want to keep those seniors and lovebirds coming back every fall, so I have to be visible as possible. Very pleased to hear things are coming along so well at Shenstone House. Nice article in the Gazette yesterday—Baxter James always does a good job.”

Young lady? Leslie hadn’t been called “young lady” since she was just out of college. She was barely twenty years younger than the mayor, if that, and she’d dealt with men his age and older for years in the corporate world. She was just about to make a cool retort that might have included the words “older man” when Cherry moved next to her, and there was an instant, sharp pain in her ankle.

“Oh, did I kick you?” her aunt asked innocently—but there was a flash of warning in her eyes. Be nice.

Whatever. “Baxter spent a lot of time at the house, looking at all the things I’ve been having done,” Leslie replied briskly. “He took a lot of photos too; said he was going to write an article and submit it to Midwest Living, as well as the Grand Rapids and Chicago papers. Some sort of pre-publicity press.”

“That’s excellent news,” Underwhite said with a smile. “Baxter knows what he’s doing when it comes to publicity—look at what he’s done with B-Cubed.”

“B-Cubed?”

“Baxter’s Beatnik Brews—B-Cubed Beer. His IPA is our most popular local beer, and it’s made right here in Wicks Hollow. Anything that helps a local business, like yours or his, helps Wicks Hollow—and vice versa. I sure hope we’ll see you at the Chamber of Commerce and Business District meetings in the near future.” The mild rebuke—she hadn’t yet been to either one—was such that Leslie couldn’t take offense. Underwhite was right: as a business owner, she would want to be involved in those meetings.

“As soon as things settle down with the main contract work, you can bet I’ll be there,” she replied.

“We’ll look forward to it.”

It was on the tip of Leslie’s tongue to tell Cherry and Orbra that she and Declan had discovered a hidden speakeasy when a waiter arrived with their beer—including one by B-Cubed.

Conversation turned, not so accidentally, to books—with Cherry and Orbra doing their best to draw John Fischer into conversation about his suspected contemporaries.

Cherry started it by casually mentioning that she’d just picked up the latest J. D. Robb from the library. Orbra latched on, and was off and running.

“T. J. Mack is one of my favorites, of course, being as the author’s pretty close to being a Wicks Hollow native,” she said, looking around the table—but pitching her words to make certain Fischer could hear. “I have all the Sargent Blue books on my shelf. They’re just so funny, but they’re suspenseful, too—grab you by the throat and don’t let go the minute you start reading. I also love the Jack Reachers, and those other ones by Harlan Coben—but the Bruno Tablenture books—those are definite auto-buys for me. In hardcover.”

Wow. Orbra was really buttering up Fischer if she was buying his books in print. Or at least claiming to. Leslie hid a smile as she glanced at the writer. To her surprise, he caught her gaze with his. Humor flashed therein as he winked, then tilted his head to sip from a B-Cubed longneck.

“So guess what I found,” Leslie said in a low voice to Cherry as the books conversation trundled to a halt. “Or, I should say, we found, today.”

“What?” Her aunt, more slender and toned at sixty-five than most women were at thirty, had settled in her seat and was eyeing John Fischer speculatively from across the table. “He might be able to keep up with me,” she muttered. “And I’ve never minded a guy with a beard. Not at all. William Reckless had a very sexy one.” She sighed with what sounded like regret. “Too bad he ran off to the monks in Tibet.”

Leslie shook her head. Cherry had never been married, but she’d had her share of boyfriends over the years—and a wide variety of them. And since she’d grown up during the days of Woodstock, free love, and communes, it was to be expected she’d known many men with beards and long hair.

“You’ve never dated a novelist, have you?” Leslie asked in an undertone. “A guitar player—two of them, right? A chef, a baseball player, a poli-sci professor—and God knows who else.”

Cherry grinned and ran a hand through her short, sassy platinum hair. “I’ve done a poet and a self-help author, so I think it’s about time I tried out a fiction writer, don’t you? Unless you’re interested—and he does seem to be checking you out. Although, if you are, then you have to back off on Declan. No fair for you to be hoarding all the foxy men.”

Leslie’s eyes widened and her cheeks warmed. “Keep your voice down,” she muttered, looking around to make sure no one had heard. “And don’t you want to hear what I found?”

“Oh, right. Do tell! Orbry, lean in—Leslie’s got news.”

But before she could begin to tell her tale, a smartly dressed woman approached the table.

“Ah, Regina’s here,” said Underwhite, standing to greet his wife.

Leslie had to agree with Maxine’s previous comment: the two made an unusual couple—at least visually. Though they both seemed to be the same age, Mrs. Regina Clemons Underwhite was much more slender than he—nearly as toned and fit as Cherry, but taller. Almost six feet, Leslie guessed, which put her five or six inches above her husband. She dressed as expensively as he did, however, in a tailored shift of Kelly green trimmed with black embroidery at the hem and ends of its long sleeves. Her hair was an unnatural blue-black without a hint of gray, and she looked as if she’d just left the salon.

As it turned out, she had. “So sorry I’m late,” she said, glancing around the table. “Emily was running behind, and I was her last cut tonight. But I don’t trust my hair to anyone else, you know.” She turned to Leslie. “Emily Delton, at the Beau Monde Salon—best stylist and colorist in the county, if you’re looking for someone. Worth waiting for, even if she’s running late. You’re Leslie Nakano, aren’t you? The new owner at Shenstone? I’m so sorry we haven’t met before now—but better late than never. Regina Underwhite.” She smiled pleasantly, her teeth as perfect as her husband’s, which caused Leslie to wonder if they’d used the same orthodontist.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking Regina’s offered hand. “Thanks for the recommendation—I do need to find a new salon and stylist now that I’ve moved to the area, so I’ll give them a call.”

“Emily books up months in advance, but if you tell them I sent you, I’m sure they’ll fit you in. She always keeps a bit of padding for emergencies.” Regina looked around the table and laughed lightly. “Well, now that we’ve got that settled—I’m sorry I’m late, darling,” she said again. This time, she leaned toward her husband, who’d risen to pull out her chair, and gave him a warm kiss on the lips.

He smiled, moving a hand affectionately across her shoulder, then sat back down next to her. “We waited for you to order. I hope you’re hungry.”

“How sweet of you. Thank you, Aaron. I was hoping to have some news for you about the salon’s expansion plans, but all Emily Delton wanted to talk about was Declan Zyler.”

“Declan Zyler? What about?” Orbra demanded, flickering a glance across the table, and all of a sudden, Leslie felt a sudden sense of disquiet…and, strangely, it grew into a sense of disappointment at Regina’s next words.

“Oh yes, she was going on and on about how she’s been going to the football games with him to watch their daughters on the pom squad, and how he had her over the other night for a beer. The man is nice enough, I suppose, but he doesn’t really do a thing for me,” Regina said, sliding a sidewise look at her husband and smiling.

He beamed and patted her hand. “You’re a brains over brawn kind of woman, I know.”

“Well, he sure as hell does a thing for me,” Trib said as he placed a new beer in front of Fischer, and another in front of Underwhite. “Too bad I’m almost twenty years too old for him.”

“Not to mention the fact that he goes the other way,” Orbra said dryly.

Trib sighed. “A man can dream, can’t he? I keep trying to think of excuses to stop by and see him working at that forge of his. He already did that fire pit for me up at the house, but I never caught him working.” He looked up and around the restaurant. “Been thinking about adding some wrought iron accents to the place here, you know. Lots of ’em.”

They all laughed, and Cherry said, “You let us know how that works out, Trib.”

Regina looked up. “Hello, Trib. I’ll have my usual, if you don’t mind.” Then she spoke to the table at large. “I suppose you’ve all been discussing business before I got here? Or plans for the class reunion?” She turned back to Leslie, who was beginning to wonder if she’d ever be able to tell Cherry about the speakeasy. “Aaron is the mayor, but of course he ropes me in to a lot of special projects.” Her eyes danced, indicating that she didn’t mind it one bit. “I have an interior design practice, but I’m very involved in anything related to the town or special events here. Including the big, multiyear reunion.”

“No, no, we weren’t actually talking business at all, Reggie,” Underwhite said. “You didn’t miss a thing.”

“Would you all like to order, now that Madam Underwhite is here?” Trib asked, nudging her playfully from behind.

The consensus was for the pizza with the “crack” sauce, and they ordered a vegetarian one for Cherry and Regina, and another two with a variety of toppings, and then, finally, Leslie was able to tell her story.

“There’s a hidden room in the cellar.” She was mainly speaking to her aunt and Orbra, but the others could hear as well. “I think it was a speakeasy.”

“A speakeasy?” Iva fairly squealed. She looked as if she were about to erupt from her chair and run to Shenstone House to see for herself. “Where? How big was it? Was there anything in it?”

The Underwhites and Trib were listening too. (Hollis Nath had left the table to take a phone call.)

Leslie was only too happy to fill in the details about where the entrance was and what she and Declan had found when they pulled off the patched-up piece of plasterboard. “There are bottles and glasses all over the place, and the furniture is in bad shape. But there are two oil paintings that are absolutely stunning—each of a woman wearing amazing jewelry. Though they’re portraits, the gemstones are really the focus of the picture, and as soon as I saw them, I couldn’t help but wonder whether they were paintings of the missing legendary jewels of Red Eye Sal. If they even exist.”

“Oh, they exist all right,” Trib said. He’d pulled up a chair and spun it around, straddling it so he could rest his hands on the top of its back. “Well, at least one piece does—or did.” Regina, Underwhite, and Trib exchanged glances. “No one’s sure about whether there was a whole cache of jewels like the legend says, or just the one necklace.”

“What did the jewels look like?” asked Orbra just as a waiter delivered two of the three pizzas they’d ordered. “The ones in the paintings, I mean.”

“One was all sapphires. It was as if the woman was wearing a collar just dripping with them—of all different shades of blue, too, so some might have been blue topazes. They covered the top of her chest like this.” Leslie used her hands to demonstrate. “And she had matching earrings and a bracelet. It was a ridiculous number of gemstones, all set in silver—or maybe platinum. And at the bottom of the necklace, the part hanging the lowest, was—”

“A star-shaped stone,” Cherry said. Her eyes were sparkling, just like the sapphires. “Those are definitely Red Eye Sal’s missing jewels. The star is the giveaway.”

“That’s right. The jewelry was all made by the same designer—supposedly a woman whom Red Eye Sal loved but couldn’t have because she was married to another man. Apparently the fact that he himself was married wasn’t a factor,” Aaron Underwhite said dryly. “But the jeweler—I forget her name?” He looked at his wife.

“Margarita, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, that was it. Margarita’s trademark was having the gemstones cut into a star shape—or she set them so closely and perfectly that they looked like one stone, as if a single jewel had been cut into a star.”

“Either way, each piece she designed always had a six-pointed star with a sort of fat center on it. Almost like a sun. Very distinctive,” Trib said. “You said one set in the paintings was sapphires…so the other painting was of the gold topazes?”

“No…it was garnets and rubies. What do you mean the gold topazes? It sounds as if you know about these jewels,” said Leslie.

“Well, we all know about the topazes, that’s for sure,” Cherry said. “But I don’t know if anyone ever believed there was anything else in the so-called jewelry cache of Red Eye Sal other than the topazes, and maybe some pearls.”

“I feel as if I’m missing half of some story that you all know. Would someone please fill me in?” Leslie asked, reaching for a piece of pizza. It was covered with fresh tomatoes, torn basil, plots of house-made mozzarella, and roasted peppers—and it smelled divine.

The others looked at each other, and Mayor Underwhite was the one who spoke. “Since I probably know as much as anyone about it,” he said, sliding his own piece of pizza onto his plate. He served Regina as well, then settled back in his seat, preparing to tell a story.

“The topazes were—are—the only pieces of this so-called collection that anyone ever remembers seeing. That’s why most everyone believes it was nothing more than a legend that Red Eye Sal had other pieces in his cache. There was a set of earrings—both star-shaped and gold—and a necklace, though it was much less grand than the one you described, Leslie. And there were some pearls, with mother of pearl star shapes as well—which is probably what launched the idea of the legend, even though no one that I know of has ever seen any others. But two sets of jewelry, both with stars…you can see where the romantic idea came from.” He paused as if to collect his thoughts, using a knife and fork to cut a generous piece from the point of his pizza. “And, if those paintings you say you saw are accurate, then it seems as if it might not just be a legend after all.”

“The topazes and pearls were owned by the van Gerste family, who I think were distant relatives of Sal,” Regina said. “Or somehow had a connection; I’m not sure, because they never owned Shenstone House. We knew their daughter, Kristen.” Her voice had become sober. “We were in the same year at school.”

“Is she the one who… Oh, I’d forgotten about that,” Iva said in an almost whisper. “That was…what…1985? Just a year after I moved to Philadelphia.”

Trib was nodding. “Yes. 1985. The year we graduated.” He glanced at Leslie. “Kristen was in our class. She was a beautiful young woman, with dark hair and amber-colored eyes. Smart, too—not valedictorian smart; that was Aaron here—but she had a respectable grade point. Very popular with her classmates—pretty much all of us liked her. Homecoming queen, cheerleader, class president—you know the drill.” He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts.

“Kristen got permission from her parents to wear the Red Eye Sal topazes to our senior prom,” Regina said. “It was a big deal—her parents were wealthy, and she always had nice clothes and expensive shoes, but the fact that she was going to wear these heirloom jewels to the prom was a really big deal.” Her voice trailed off. “I knew Kristen quite well. We weren’t absolute BFFs or anything like that, but we were in the same group of friends. I played basketball and ran track, she played tennis and was a cheerleader. And we lived near each other—Kristen, Aaron, Trib, and I. Though the van Gerstes’ house—and Aaron’s too—was a lot larger and fancier than mine or Trib’s.” She smiled fondly at her husband.

“Kristen was dating the captain of the football team,” Aaron said, taking up the story. “Marcus Levin. That’s only relevant because of how the night played out. Prom night, I mean.”

“The night she was wearing the topazes,” Leslie said.

“Right. Kristen was a trendsetter,” Trib said. “So when she got permission to wear the jewels, she decided to go all the way and do a vintage look. Vintage clothing was just becoming the thing in the eighties, and she found this gorgeous beaded flapper dress at an antiques market. I still remember it…she looked like an angel in that sparkling gown. It was pearlescent, iridescent, all shimmery gold and pink and peach…” He sighed, his eyes going dreamy and faraway.

“Anyway,” Underwhite said, drawing the conversation back to him, “she wore the dress and topazes to the prom, with Marcus Levin as her date. But they had a huge blowout fight near the end of the night—it was a complete spectacle, right in the middle of the dance floor.

“They were playing ‘Waiting for a Girl Like You’—I’ll never forget it: that song was the theme for the prom, and the queen and king had just been crowned. They were supposed to dance together first, then the rest of their court was to join in, couple by couple—and it all went to hell,” Regina said. “No one was dancing, Kristen was screaming awful things at Marcus while he stood there laughing at her, and then she left. Walked out, crying, and left the prom, all by herself.

“The high school isn’t far from our neighborhood—only two miles or so. You can see it from Shenstone House, actually. It’s just beyond the woods that butts up to the bottom of your hill and goes along Faraday Street. Oh, and Kristen’s family never owned Shenstone,” Underwhite added for Leslie’s benefit, “which is another reason people didn’t believe there are jewels belonging to Red Eye Sal hidden there.”

“I tried to go with Kristen, to talk to her,” Regina said quietly. “But she didn’t want anyone around, and my date…well, he encouraged me to let her leave by herself if that was what she wanted. I did make him take me home then, and we looked for her on the way to give her a ride, but we didn’t see her. No one did.” When Leslie glanced at Underwhite, Regina said, “Oh, it wasn’t Aaron who talked me out of going after her. It wasn’t until later that I realized what a great guy he was.”

“A damned sight nicer than Colter Bray,” Underwhite commented, shaking his head. “I would have sent you after Kristen if you’d been my date.” He looked at Leslie, giving a wry smile. “I didn’t have a chance with the likes of Regina Clemons when we were in school. I was an acne-faced nerd, and that was long before nerds and geeks were made cool by The Big Bang Theory.” He laughed, and Regina laughed with him and patted his hand.

“Anyway, that big fight broke up the dance,” Trib said. “The blowout between the most popular and well-liked girl in the school and her asshole of a boyfriend. No one liked Marcus Levin unless he was on the football field. Or running by in shorts,” he muttered. “And no one really knew what the fight was about.”

“So Kristen left the dance by herself, wearing the topazes, upset and angry and crying…and she was never seen alive again,” Underwhite said, finishing off the tale.

Leslie, who’d been expecting an unpleasant end to the story, frowned. “Did they determine what happened?”

After a moment, Regina spoke. “Late the next day, they found her body in the woods not far from the main road between the school and town. The topazes were gone.”

“They think it was a robbery, plain and simple,” said Underwhite. “She was still fully clothed and had died from a broken neck. There was evidence of a blow to the back of the head, too—we all followed the story, of course; I remember it like it was yesterday.” He reached over and covered Regina’s hand with his own. “We all liked Kristen. It was so awful.”

“So they never caught anyone?” Leslie asked.

“No. And the topazes never showed up anywhere either—they must have been removed from their settings and sold separately, or are hidden away in someone’s safe,” said Trib.

After a few moments of everyone quietly eating, Orbra spoke. “So now that you’ve found those paintings, there is evidence that there actually were other jewels in Red Eye Sal’s collection.”

“I wonder if they’re hidden in that secret room,” Iva said just as Hollis slid back into his chair next to her. He murmured an apology, and dove into the pizza. “Or if there are other secret rooms in the house. I really do need to come over and look, Leslie. Will you be home tomorrow? Can I come by?”

“I’ll be there all day—except I think I’m being dragged—er, taken to—the football game at the high school tomorrow night.” Leslie grinned at Cherry.

“What’s this about secret rooms?” Hollis asked, then sighed with satisfaction as he enjoyed his pizza. “Hardly ever get to eat like this at home.”

“Only two pieces, darling,” Iva reminded him. “You know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.”

“Right.” Hollis rolled his eyes at her. “Where is this secret room you found, Leslie?”

“It’s under the main stairway in the foyer. Probably the people coming to the speakeasy would walk right in the front door and then head below through the secret doorway. You have to kind of duck your head and climb down—it’s not much more than a hole in the floor that leads to a spiral staircase.”

“Did you have to take the staircase apart to get to it? How did you even know to do that?” Underwhite asked.

“No, Declan just pulled away a section of the wall at about the midsection of the stairs.”

“Oooh…what was Declan doing at your house?” asked Trib with a wicked smile.

“He’s restoring the wrought iron stairway—the one in the front foyer.”

“That’s a big job,” Regina said, looking at Leslie with raised brows. “And an expensive one. I hope you don’t need him to replace the whole thing—surely it would be thousands of dollars. Remember when I was working with Bayley Brothers on the remodel at Kendall Street, darling? We had wrought iron work done there, but that was before Declan Zyler moved back to town. It was very pricey.”

“Yes, but the railing is old, and of course Leslie doesn’t want to take the chance anyone could get injured,” Cherry said.

“And in order to keep my historical home designation, it has to be restored in the original manner. So, yes, it will be expensive. Maybe I’ll find the missing jewels and that will pay for it,” Leslie said with a chuckle.

As the others joined in, John Fischer spoke up: “Well, I for one would like to see this secret room. If you’re giving tours to others”—he nodded toward Iva—“can you count me in? Sounds like a great idea for a book.” He gave Leslie a subtle wink—as if everyone at the table hadn’t figured out he was a writer—and selected another slice of pizza.

“Sure. Why don’t you come over at eleven tomorrow morning? Anyone else?” she asked, half laughing as she looked around the table.

“I’d love to, sweetie, but I’ll be here mixing up my crack pizza sauce. With its five secret ingredients,” said Trib with a wicked smile. “For sure another time.”

The Underwhites demurred, as well as Orbra (“Lunchtime’s busy, you know”), and Cherry groused that she had to teach a Pilates class at noon.

“You can come over tonight and look,” Leslie suggested to her aunt. “It’s only nine o’clock.”

“Not tonight—remember, you said you’d help me move those display cabinets at the studio?” Cherry said. “Or now that you found an exciting secret room, maybe you don’t have time for your auntie anymore.” She pretended to pout.

“Right. Sorry. I forgot you turn into a pumpkin at nine.”

“If you got up at four-thirty so you could teach yoga at six, you wouldn’t make fun,” Cherry told her.

“I have no idea why you need an hour and a half to get ready in the morning,” Leslie said. Ever since she’d left the corporate world, she’d happily slept in till at least seven and spent less than a half-hour showering, dressing, and doing her hair—a great improvement over the ninety minutes she used to take to blow out her hair and do her makeup, and dress in pressed suits and Italian pumps every morning.

She was never going back to that world.

“We’ll be over tomorrow at eleven,” said Iva, standing as Hollis tossed a couple of twenties onto the table. “But speaking of tuning into pumpkins…I’m about there myself. Good night, all.”

The dinner party broke up rapidly after that, and Leslie walked with Cherry out the door of Trib’s and across the almost deserted main street, down the block, then around the corner to her second-floor yoga studio. It took a little less than an hour to move the display cabinets that held books, tees, yoga pants, and fitness accessories—and for her to fill in a few more details about the speakeasy and Declan Zyler.

“I wouldn’t let what Reggie said about Emily Delton stop you,” Cherry said as she locked up the studio.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Stop playing dumb, sweet pea. I’m your favorite aunt and you’re my favorite niece—”

“I’m your only niece—”

“And that’s beside the point. Only a straight man or a lesbian wouldn’t see the point in getting to know a guy like Dec Zyler a little—well, a lot—better. So unless you find out otherwise, assume there’s absolutely nothing going on with him and Emily Delton.”

“Right, auntie. Whatever you say.” Leslie popped a kiss onto Cherry’s cheek then headed off to her car.

She had to admit, she’d taken her time rearranging the cabinets and chatting with her aunt. She suddenly found she wasn’t all that eager to return to a large, dark, empty house alone.

For the first time since moving in, Leslie was fully aware of how isolated Shenstone was, up on its low hill, surrounded by a generous, forested area. Even though the town was less than a mile away, the house felt farther away from everything because it was higher up and shrouded in woodlands.

And now that she’d learned about Kristen van Gerste—hadn’t her body been found in the same wooded area? Farther away, closer to the highway, but still…

“That was thirty years ago,” Leslie told herself out loud as she turned down her street.

And then there was the movement in the brush she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—just before she left tonight, while she was navigating down the wooded, S-curved drive.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she lectured herself as she nosed her Mercedes into the driveway. It was probably a deer. Or a dog. Or a figment of her imagination.

Who wouldn’t be on edge after having the bejesus scared out of her by Declan Zyler showing up at her window?

Leslie didn’t see anything out of place as the car crunched up the drive (going to have to get it paved before winter, she thought), and her high-beam headlamps spread a large and comforting semicircle as she turned into the parking area.

The lights were on inside, just as she’d left them, and her house looked as inviting and homey as usual. Feeling relieved, and rather foolish for her apprehension, she climbed out of the car, keys jangling in her hand.

But Leslie had just reached the back door when, from the corner of her eye, she caught a movement at the edge of the woods. She spun around, heart in her throat, just as the bushes shook and trembled.

Something was there.